Hotel Populaire
by purewanderlust
Summary: After three years of marriage to Raoul, Christine has realized that she was in love with Erik. She convinces Raoul to take her back to the newly reopened Opera House. What will she find there? More importantly, will she like it? EC.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Okay, so I took a long look at this story and decided I could do better with it if I started from the beginning again and re-did it. Hopefully I can get to the end this time. **

**Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to say this--I…do……not…own Erik, or any of the other awesomeness that is _Phantom of the Opera_. Only Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber can make such a claim. (tear)**

**A/N: Oh, yeah, for people who didn't read this the first time, it is mainly ALW, musical and movie based, with little bits of Leroux and Englund and maybe Kay mixed in. **

Chapter One

Christine gazed absently out the window at the pouring rain, from her seat on the sofa. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass and continued to watch. She was so intent on this activity that she hardly noticed anything else going on around her.

It had been exactly three years since what was now known as the Great Disaster at the Paris Opera House. Tomorrow was Christine's third anniversary to Raoul. At the thought, Christine sighed deeply and stared through the carriage coming up the drive without actually seeing it.

In the past three years, she had reflected on what had happened down in the catacombs that last night in the opera house and realized that she wasn't in love with her husband; she wasn't in love with Raoul de Chagny. Oh, sure, she _loved_ him, but she wasn't _in_ love with him. She considered him more of a best friend than a lover.

The thing that truly made her miserable was that she knew that she carried that intense, passionate type of love for someone, but not for Raoul. No, she was _in_ love with Erik. She knew that now. If she was honest with herself, she'd known that when she left him there, standing among the candles, tears running down his face. _Christine, I love you…_

Christine jumped nearly a mile when the front door shut; Raoul was home. She had been so deep in thought that, even though she'd seen the him coming, it hadn't occurred to her that the Vicomte was on his way. Raoul crossed the room and kissed her gently on the cheek, sweeping a bouquet of lilies out from behind his back and handing them to her. Christine smiled and accepted the flowers. She gave them to a passing servant who went about putting them into a vase and setting it on the table.

Raoul had never given her roses. Never. That image of Erik's red roses, tied with black ribbon seemed to set off alarm bells in his head. So she hadn't seen a rose, in any color, since the day she'd married him. She felt a tear slid down her cheek and brushed it away hurriedly. What was the matter with her?

"And I've brought you the newspaper." he said with a smile. He handed it to her and took off the top hat he still wore. She opened the paper eagerly as he went to see that the horses were properly stabled. Every evening, for three years, he had brought her the paper from Paris, knowing it was all she had connecting her to her past there. Heaven knows, she'd lived in the Opera's dormitories for ten years!

Christine looked at the front page for several moments before it processed in her brain. Then, she gasped, realizing that it was a picture of the Opera House, fully restored to its former beauty. The heading read:

'**Grand Reopening of the Opera Populaire Tomorrow Night!'**

Christine's eyes widened and she read on.

'The world-renowned Opera Populaire is reopening under new management with a premiere showing of _Tosca_ tomorrow evening. The new managers, M. Pierre and Duprè have also added a new building to serve as a hotel for the Opera's guests, aptly called Hotel Populaire. The managers were ecstatic about buying the Opera for the ridiculously low price of one-thousand francs from former managers, M. Andre and Firmin, who refused to comment, except to wish the new managers good luck. The part of Tosca in tomorrow night's show will be played by Mademoiselle Adrenna, at age fifteen, the youngest lead soprano in the history of Paris. Why the prominent La Carlotta will not perform is currently unknown, as she declined to give a statement.'

That was all. After that, it went onto an interview with the new managers about the renovations. There was nothing else mentioned, not the Great Disaster or…the Opera Ghost. At the thought of Erik, Christine suddenly, desperately wanted to go to the premiere. The desire was so unexpected and so strong that she felt as if the room were spinning around her. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and looked up into Raoul's concerned brown eyes. Wordlessly, she handed him the paper.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the article. After he'd finished reading, he looked down at his wife, having an idea of what she was about to ask and worried that he wouldn't know how to answer.

"Can--can we go?" she asked, finally finding her voice. She knew she sounded childish, but that didn't matter at the moment. For three long years, Christine had been forbidden from singing in public, and she hadn't been to a musical performance in that time, either. She knew Raoul meant well, that he was just trying to protect her, but she resented it. Just the other day, he had heard her singing a piece from _Don Juan Triumphant_ and reproached her, irate. She hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day.

Raoul hesitated before answering her. True, he had not allowed her to sing outside of the house, but he certainly didn't want to take away her love of music. Besides, their anniversary was the same day, and a visit would mean so much to her. It wasn't like she wanted to go to find the 'Opera Ghost', right? That man was probably dead anyway…

"We will go." he replied finally, feigning cheerfulness. "But we will have to leave tonight and stay in the new hotel." A smile blossomed on his wife's face and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, beaming.

"Thank you, Raoul!"

But even with his wife's joy at the decision, the Vicomte could not help but let dark thoughts worm their way into his mind. Nonetheless, he called for the carriage to be made ready for the journey.

**A/N: Yeah, I know it's a bit short, but don't worry. As with all other stories I write, the chapters get longer as we go along. Please R&R!**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Chapter two is up! Enjoy, and, as always, R&R!**

Chapter Two

The Vicomte and Vicomtess were prepared for their trip within the hour. The carriage was packed and, despite the rain beating down even harder, they were still heading to Paris. Christine, grinning like a child, allowed herself to be lead to the carriage, a protective umbrella over her head, and climbed inside, followed by Raoul. The door latched shut, and they were off, the horses splashing through the ever-growing rain puddles.

Seeing Christine's joy at his decision lessened Raoul's anxiety very little. He couldn't help but continue to feel concern, though. What if Erik was still alive and he did show up? What if he kidnapped Christine again? What if he _killed_ her? The what ifs and maybes stormed his mind, taking over like giant armies of conspiracy. Just the thought of that man made Raoul hot with anger. Watching his beloved Christine being deceived and forced to choose between them had disgusted him. She deserved so much better than that.

But did she really want something better than that? Raoul had tried, vainly for the past three years to push this suspicion out of his mind, but he knew it would never be truly gone. Did Christine, his Christine, love that--that _monster_? He sometimes wondered. There were times when he would find her gazing out the window, tears in the corners of her eyes, or at the piano, just running her fingers over the keys. And, occasionally, when he tried to kiss her, or even hug her, she would pull away and stare blankly at him, as if she were no longer capable of such an emotion. He doubted she realized that such things were noticeable. In fact, he doubted she was aware of her own behavior half of the time, and that worried him.

More than anything else, the kiss she had shared with Erik haunted him. It seemed so much more real, and passionate than any kiss she had ever given him, almost as if she was giving him her heart with the kiss. Putting all other things aside, the kiss alone made him wonder where her heart truly was. With him, the man she had married, or with the Phantom of the Opera. Was it possible? He dared to take a sideways glance at his wife.

Christine was peering out the window, with suppressed excitement, her chocolate curls bouncing with the ruts and bumps the carriage rolled across. The picture of innocence. She seemed so pure, so completely unaware of his doubts that, for a split second, Raoul himself forgot them. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts. He was being paranoid. She had married him, hadn't she? These thoughts swirling in his mind, Raoul allowed the creaking and swaying of the carriage to lull him into an uneasy sleep…

"_Did you really think," Sneered Christine, "For one second, that I loved you?" She laughed loudly, cruelly. "How could I?"_

_The room came into focus slowly. It was Erik's home, or lair, in Raoul's mind. He was tied to the portcullis, a Punjab_ _lasso around his neck and Christine's words were directed, not at the 'ghost', but at him. She was holding the other end of the lasso firmly in her hands, her knuckles turning white from squeezing it so tight. Erik was watching from above, on the island, hatred fixed on his marred face._

"_Christine." panted Raoul, "What have I done to make you hate me so?" Her smirk changed into a snarl, absolute loathing spilling from her mouth with every word._

"_You took the music away!" her voice grew shill as she fought to maintain control. "It's gone and I can't hear it. And it's all your fault!" She jerked on the rope and he choked, trying to keep breathing, trying to stay alive. Carlotta appeared at Christine's elbow and started to sing, so loudly that Raoul and, even Erik winced, despite their distance from the diva. The mirrors cracked and the pebbles fell from the ceiling. Although she was standing right next to her, Christine didn't bat an eye. _

"_I can't hear it!" she screamed. "It's your fault, Raoul! I hate you!" She tugged on the rope again and Raoul jerked his chin up, desperate to keep living. Suddenly, Carlotta was joined by Piangi, Meg Giry and the rest of the opera. Waves formed in the lake, product of their voices. Bigger clumps of rock fell from the cave walls and ceiling, splashing into the waters. _

"_I can't hear the music!" she shrieked. "No matter what, I still can't hear it!" The crowd grew louder, almost as if to try and help her hear, but it was no use._

"_The music is dead, I can't hear It." chanted Christine. "The music is dead and you are to blame!" _

_Abruptly, the multitude stopped its ghastly song and a single voice floated up from the silence._

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,_

_Darkness wakes and stirs imagination._

_It was Erik, slowly coming down from his island to the water's edge. His voice was impeccable and even Raoul had to admit, he sounded like an angel._

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write._

_Christine's eyes grew wide, and she turned to him, watching intently. "I can hear you." she whispered, awed. He stretched out his hand to her and she looked at it for a long moment._

"_No! Christine, don't go with him!" Raoul managed to get out with the rope constricting his breathing. She yanked on it again to silence him._

_For I compose the Music of the Night._

_Christine took his hand, singing along and the mass began to sing with them. She maintained her grip on the rope with her right hand and stepped towards her Angel. The rope tightened and Raoul's vision started to fade._

_Slowly, gently, Night unfurls its splendor._

_Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender._

_Erik led Christine up onto the dry floor. The lasso was now so tight; Raoul could not breathe at all. It was only a matter of time before he ran out of oxygen. The walls trembled and rocks fell into the churning waters._

_Hearing is believing, Music is deceiving;_

_Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight,_

_By this point, the rope was pulled so taut that you could tightrope walk on it. Raoul was a dead man and he knew it, but, before he gasped out his last breath, Christine turned and looked at him scathingly._

_Dare you trust the Music of the Night?_

"Raoul! Wake up, we're here!" Christine shook her husband and he jerked awake with a start. The dream was still vivid in his mind, but he tried to put out of his mind, smiling tiredly at the excited girl. Nonetheless, he was rather shaky as he climbed out of the carriage, Christine behind him, looking concerned. The busboy dipped into a low bow.

"Welcome," he said. "To the Hotel Populaire."

**A/N: How was it? Be honest; that dream sequence was total improv right there. Hope you enjoyed it. Please R&R and the next chapter will be up quicker!**


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Adreanna Duprè, star of the Opera Populaire's new show and daughter to one of the two managers, danced across the darkened stage, singing gaily to herself. She twirled in a circle and slipped on the freshly waxed wood. But, she laughed as she fell to the floor and lay on her back, staring up at the catwalk, high above the stage.

Adreanna was, at age fifteen, the youngest Prima Donna that Paris had ever seen. She had beautiful wavy red hair that fell to her waist and sparkling green eyes. Although she wasn't fond of social situations and especially despised all the rules that dominated French society, Adre was fitting in quite well at the Opera. She was a good singer and a fairly good dancer, and she had even befriended one of the ballerinas, a girl named Meg Giry. Yes, life in the Paris Opera House was what she loved.

The young woman clambered to her feet and looked around. The auditorium was dark and silent; it was very late and everyone else was fast asleep. Asleep was the way she liked them best, mainly her father's awful business partner, M. Pierre.

He was shockingly thin, so much so that his collar and cheek bones jutted out at rough angles. He was rather short with a small amount patchy white hair on his crown. His eyes were black, like tunnels and his skin was a sickly yellowish color. Occasionally, when he grew angry, violet-red patches of color would appear on his cheeks and on the bald spot directly on top of his shiny head. Pierre's personality matched his looks and everyone steered clear of him whenever possible. An unwholesome character indeed. Adre never could understand why someone as kind and good-hearted as her father would do business with a man like Pierre.

Adre shivered suddenly. She had to concede, it was a little scary being in the theatre alone after dark. Not one to admit fear, she had insisted that Meg's stories had not frightened her in the least. Some of those tales were pure nonsense, product of Meg's overactive imagination, and when she said they didn't scare her, it was the truth. No, the ones that sent chills down her spine were about the Opera Ghost.

She had first heard of this phantom when her father had purchased the building. The former managers had warned him of the infamous man, who murdered without remorse and stole from the owners. They even blamed him for the fire that had destroyed most of the upper levels of the Opera. Her father, of course, had just laughed it off. He never was one to believe in the supernatural. Supposedly, the 'ghost' was dead or gone, but, for reasons she didn't understand, Adreanna was positive that he wasn't either.

Adre decided to go backstage and fetch some candles, when something upstage caught her eye. One of the trapdoors was standing open, even though no trapdoors were used in the current production. After fighting indecision for a moment, Adre's curiosity got the better of her and she tiptoed over and peered into the blackness below.

"Is someone there?" she asked. There was no answer, but, nonetheless, she felt as if she were being watched. _Trapdoor lover._ She vaguely recalled M. Andre calling the ghost something like that. She hurriedly closed the trapdoor, letting it fall shut with a bang that echoed throughout the auditorium and backed away. She spun around on her heel, with every intention to leave, but a man was standing directly in front of her, dressed all in black and wearing a white half mask: The Phantom of the Opera. Adre started to scream, but a black gloved hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound.

"Be quiet!" hissed the man in a deadly voice. She stopped instantly, as if stricken dumb. His hand left her mouth, but she dared not move. 'Who are you?"

"I--I'm Adre." she stammered, terrified.

"The new Prima Donna." he said scornfully. "What are you doing in here?"

He didn't seem to expect an answer, so Adre gave none. Her mind was spinning too fast to respond, anyway. The Opera Ghost was very much alive, that was clear. She wondered if anyone else knew this information.

"No one else knows I am here." he said, as if reading her thoughts. "And it will remain so, understood?" Adreanna nodded violently, praying that he would just let her go. "Good. Now go, and don't come back here after dark again." As if she needed telling! She rushed to the door that connected the Opera to the Hotel, and through it, without a backward glance, leaving him standing alone in the darkness, shadows hiding the expression on his face.

"Welcome to the Hotel Populaire."

Christine and Raoul both looked up at the vast new building, taking everything in. Even in the darkness, Hotel Populaire was difficult to miss. It was six stories tall and painted a creamy tan color. Two golden nudes, similar to those within the Opera itself stood on either side of the finely polished mahogany double doors, holding lamps that spilled warm light over the couple.

The man standing in the door seemed to be somewhere about his late thirties, with dark brown hair, peppered with grey and a handlebar moustache to match. He was a rather large man, probably close to six feet and as wide as he was tall. He smiled genially and ushered them into the lobby with a wave of his huge hand.

"Good evening." he said courteously, bowing low. His voice was rich and friendly; Christine liked him immediately. "I am M. Duprè, one of the Opera's new owners." He shook hands with Raoul. "Ah! The Vicomte de Chagny!" The man turned to Christine and kissed her hand. "And Mademoiselle Daae! It is a pleasure to meet you both."

"Actually, it's the Vicomtesse de Chagny now." Raoul corrected with a grin. Christine managed a weak smile of her own, but it felt more like a grimace.

"Congratulations!" he beamed. Christine avoided her husband gaze and instead met the stare of a young girl, standing behind Duprè, positively shaking.

"Excuse me, but who is this?" she inquired. The girl looked terrified, her glance flitting between Christine, Duprè and Raoul. The manager turned to see behind.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, surprised. 'This is my daughter, Adreanna."

"The Christine Daae who was kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera?" Adre interrupted.

There was a drastic change in the atmosphere; Christine's eyes shot to the girl's face, troubled, beside her Raoul tensed suddenly. M. Dupre looked between them uneasily and abruptly changed the subject.

"Adre is playing the lead tomorrow!" he brought the girl forward.

"She must be talented!" Christine said, with difficultly, trying to return to safe conversation. But she couldn't help but notice how much more nervous Adrenna became when she heard her name.

The girl didn't reply to the compliment. Her eyes were searching for some means of escape; she looked ready to bolt at any given moment. Her face was very pale.

"You seem anxious." Christine said, attempting to calm her. "Are you alright?"

"You look as if you've seen the 'opera ghost'." commented her father offhandedly. Even from the tone of his voice, they could tell that the new manager thought it was all an elaborate hoax. Raoul shot him a reproachful look behind his back.

At this her eyes grew wide and she emitted a squeak of fear before dashing off down the hallway. They heard a door slam at the end of the hall.

"I'm so sorry." apologized Duprè, bewildered. "She's usually so agreeable." Raoul dismissed it with a wave of his hand, but it didn't leave his mind so easily. Nonetheless, they had their bags brought in and chose a suite.

"Would you like to purchase your tickets for the opera in advance?" asked the manager as he handed Raoul a room key. Raoul nodded and he opened a large book, bound in red velvet and scanned the list. "We have only one box left." he said after a moment. "Would you like it?"

"Which box is it?" Raoul asked apprehensively. But he already knew the answer.

"Box Five. Why?" Determined not to look at his wife, Raoul deliberated, staring at the carpet. It was a strange irony, to be sure, but, obviously, if there was no reason for the managers to close that box to the public, what reason would there be for them not to sit in it?

"We will take it." he said decisively. The manager made a note in the book and handed to another employee who quickly bore it away.

"Sleep well!" he called after them as they made their way to their room. As soon as they arrive at the suite they prepared for bed. After a long day of riding, Christine was exhausted. She climbed in bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the soft, down pillow.

**A/N: R&R for roses from Erik!** **hand Erik handful of red roses, and a spool of black ribbon Get started.**


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